Missing person.

A small swinging light in the center of the basement ceiling shone a light across the old cement and rotting wound. Eliot slowly made his way down the creaking stairs, his desert eagle, aka a mini hand cannon in hand, fingers gripping the grip as he slowly descended down the steps. The wooden stairs rotting, some even broken in like something heavy had been dragged down. The tip of the gun muzzle pushed aside a curtain on its last threads steadily blowing in the draft. Nothing on the other side, Eliot proceed with caution, one step at a time.

The basement was filled with old dusty shelves with different jars of god knows what. Old half molded and dented in boxes with rats skittering past or over Eliot's feet. The detective kept his eyes sharp and his breathing as quiet as possible as he made his way further into the basement. The more he walked, the more a faint beeping echoed in his head, and just as he turned a corner, just as he was about to see the person he was after, his body jolted.

Dark brown eyes stared outside the passenger side window. Rain fell around the moving vehicle, hitting the metal of the car with a sharp thud. His reflection visible in the window, he looked awful. A faint 3 o'clock shadow, ruffled up hair, and rumpled clothes, oh and can't forget the heavy eye bags. His gaze flicked to the driver, just some officer who had tagged along on Eliot's mission. Eliot slowly sat up from his slumped position in the passenger seat, the turn signal still beeping as the officer took a turn down a dirt road before the beeping stopped.

Eliot rubbed at his face, rough hands scraping over his exhausted expression. Not too much longer until the crime scene. An old country neighbor had reported some unusual noises coming from one of the more older homes, it had been scaring the neighbor kids and they wanted an end to the madness. Though the further along the vehicle sped, the more Eliot felt a tingling of familiarity. He shook it off, not wanting to get too sentimental.

Eliot's boots squished against muddy dirt walkpaths that led to many different old country homes. The officer had gone the other way to talk to civilians, the cop car parked in a large mud puddle. Eliot pulled the hood of his jacket over his head as he begin to head towards the first house for questioning. But the further he walked the more his head ached, he pressed cold fingers to his temples as he inhaled sharply. Headaches again. 3rd time this week and they always happened after the vivid dreams he had.

Suddenly a flash of movement passed by Eliot's peripheral vision. He snapped his head towards the movement and caught sight of a hunched figure slipping into an old house that looked like its seen better days. A tingling sense of familiarity hint him again as he changed courses and headed towards the house. His left hand grabbing his gun from the holster, his right hand coming up to grip the grip alongside his left hand as he placed one foot in front of the other in a quick and even pace. His fingers twitched against the rubber grip as his breathing fell into a steady rhythm.

Careful to avoid the creaking steps, Eliot slowly opened the door. The rain had finally slowed to a slow drip, but the sky had yet to clear. Eliot slipped inside the house, revealing an overturned mess. Plates and glass ware shattered in the kitchen, the living room furniture over turned. A mess, dust floated down from the ceiling, tickling at Eliot's nose. He rubbed his nose against the side of his jacket as he continued to travel further into the house. The tingles of familiarity kept hitting him, like a twisted dream, a sickening one at that.

Unaware of the basement below, he continued to walk, keeping his eyes sharp even with the dull shine of moonlight from between the boards on the windows. His breathing hitching every few seconds due to the fact he was half holding it and half breathing. Suddenly he heard a small creak below him and he glanced down, he'd only stepped on a creaky board. But he couldn't resist to call out gently.

"Hello? Is there someone here?"

Eliot asked, a cautious hint in his tone as he slowly moved further and further inside. Eventually he came to a half opened door and he pushed it open with the tip of his muzzle, it creaked open to reveal the dark and ominous stairs. Eliot felt a wave of irritation mixed with exhaustion at the sight. He descended the stairs, avoiding the broken ones with each slow step. Eventually he reached the bottom, his gun muzzle pushing aside a torn curtain as he peered past, revealing nothing. His shoulders slumped, maybe he was just losing it, he was only on 3 hours of sleep anyway. Just as he was about to turn and head back up, a soft creaking echoed. And it wasn't from eliots weight or the age of the house.